


dressed in all your finery

by spadesking



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spadesking/pseuds/spadesking
Summary: The perks of saving a governor from being assassinated means getting a new outfit to wear to dinner. Wolffe isn't the most excited about this, but if Plo likes it, then he'll deal with it for tonight.
Relationships: Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 1
Kudos: 77





	dressed in all your finery

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of this post: jasminejbatista.tumblr.com/post/95900023056/clones-in-suits-continuing-with-commander-wolffe

Wolffe thinks he looks like a damn civvie. Or worse, a young senator dressing up for a late-night party, where the only saving grace is the alcohol. Of course, Wolffe would be the one to dress up for a dinner party, and not Fox, who lived and breathed in the half-truths and hyperbole of Coruscant politics. For a moment, Wolffe wondered if Fox knew about this. Wolffe could easily imagine Fox grinning at Wolffe's discomfort and denying him any pity. _Hey, at least you're not wearing the dress grays._

Wolffe tries not to fidget as he continues scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror. The outfit is a simple suit ensemble with the foundation consisting of a pair of black pants tucked into black boots and a black dress shirt. Over it is a light charcoal gray vest that matches the tie that hangs untied around his neck. The buttons on the vest shine in the light, as do the ones on the dark gray suit jacket draped over the chair. It's... nice, Wolffe supposes. The tailor didn't do a bad job, but it's just not his style. Too soft, too silky against his skin, and now one of the most expensive things that Wolffe owns. At least there hasn't been any mention of payment yet. Otherwise, Wolffe just might go to the party in his armor.

There's a soft knock at the door at the same time Wolffe feels a warm familiar brush against his mind. "Come in," Wolffe calls. The general enters, and Wolffe frowns. Other than his vambraces looking shinier than usual, Plo isn't wearing any sort of new clothing. "Cutting it short, aren't you, sir?" he asks.

"I'd hope not," Plo says, "unless I am mistaken about the dinner starting in twenty minutes."

"You're not dressed."

Plo smiles at him. "Not in anything of your caliber, yes. But since I was not the one to save Governor Tal, I think my Jedi robes seem a reasonable thing to wear to dinner."

Wolffe pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. After a moment, he lets out a slightly annoyed huff. "So you're saying I'm going to be the only one there dressed like this?"

"Is that such a bad thing?" the general says, as he moves toward Wolffe. Even with his goggles, Wolffe can feel Plo's eyes wandering along his body appreciatively. Normally, Wolffe might show off under his gaze. Maybe cock a hip, raise an eyebrow at Plo suggestively. But they have only twenty minutes until they're expected at the dinner, and as much as Plo seems to like the outfit, Wolffe can't wait to be back in his armor and bucket.

"Just hoping no holos of me will get back to Fox," Wolffe mutters as he turns back to the mirror. "I'll never hear the end of it from him." He starts fumbling with the tie and ends up with something that looks like a mangled mess. There were too many loops and now it was too long and skinny. Wolffe scowls in frustration and pulls the thing loose to start over with a sigh. 

Before he can start again, he feels a hand on his lower back begin to climb its way to his shoulder. Plo turns Wolffe around, and he can see amusement written all over Plo's face. "Let me," Plo says, as he smoothes the tie down on Wolffe's chest. Wolffe tilts his head down to watch Plo's handiwork but lifts it back up when Plo taps the bottom of his chin lightly. His deft fingers begin to gracefully wrap the tie around itself, careful not to catch on the soft fabric with his claws. Plo's face is scrunched up in concentration, while his hands are sure and decisive, like the way he fights against droids on the battlefield. Wolffe gets the impression that it's been a while since Plo has had to do something like this. He wonders if, on top of lightsaber training and meditation, the Jedi take classes in etiquette and formal dress. He tries to imagine Plo as a padawan, sitting impatiently as someone like General Yoda or General Windu demonstrates the different ways of tying a necktie.

Now that would be a holo he'd pay to see.

Being close to the general also allows Wolffe to feel the emotions of the general in the Force. It takes a little focus, but Wolffe can identify Plo's presence and the way he feels at the moment. There's the initial layer of concentration, but underneath that is a center of still calm that Wolffe imagines like the surface of a pond. It will ripple and flow with Plo's emotions as a reflection of himself. When he's around Wolffe, it's still, but the water is inviting, like dunking his face in cool water on a hot day.

The desire is new though. It's nothing intense or impatient. Rather, it's the pull of ocean's tides, ebbing and flowing between the two of them, trying to pull Wolffe deeper. It's warmer too, and Wolffe can almost see the desire sitting low in Plo's stomach and starting to spread as he continues working on Wolffe's tie. 

"See something you like, General?" Wolffe asks, his voice low. Plo's fingers still their movements, and he feels one of Plo's claws brush against his neck. The sensation sends a shiver shooting up his spine, and he barely manages to quiet the choked sound that rises in his throat. But Plo, the damn bastard, grazes his claws against Wolffe's skin, and it makes Wolffe breath hitch. 

"I do," Plo says. Wolffe feels Plo's hands pick up where they left off, and eventually, his tie sits elegantly at the base of his neck. It's much better than anything Wolffe could ever do. Plo smoothes the tail of the tie Wolffe's chest, leaving a burning trail of desire in its wake. Then, he picks the end of the fabric and begins to play with it, sliding it in between his fingers. "I do hope they let you keep this," he says. "I'd very much like to see you wear it again."

Wolffe laughs dryly. "You'd have to do some real convincing for me to wear this again," he says. 

Plo smiles. His hand slides up and settles against Wolffe's neck as his fingertips slide into Wolffe's hair. Wolffe closes his eyes at the sensation as Plo rests his forehead against Wolffe's. The desire in Plo's presence rises like the high tide, threatening to surge around the two of them. And Wolffe would let it. He would let himself drown in this man, in all that he is. If there wasn't a war, if there weren't the ranks of Commander and General between them, Wolffe would spend every waking minute in his presence, getting to know him mind, body, and soul. He wants Plo to take him apart and put him back together again. In some other time, in some other life.

Then it recedes. The desire in Plo's mind is still present, but it's subdued, gently lapping at the shores rather than trying to pull Wolffe under. It's controlled, but like the tides and Plo, it'll come back eventually. 

"I'm sure I could come up with something," Plo murmurs, as he pulls back, his claws leaving lingering trails along Wolffe's neck. "But, in the meantime, how about we go thank Governor Tal for providing such a wonderful outfit?" 

Wolffe rolls his eyes, but he smiles at Plo as he does it. He picks up his jacket and throws it over his shoulder. He nods to the door. "After you, General," he says.

Plo smiles back at Wolffe, and they walk, side by side, as they have since Plo first became his General. And they will, for all the time they have left together.


End file.
